Ron's Rage and Regret
by stargirl1992
Summary: Ron decides to leave Harry and Hermione, but finds himself regretting his departure. A descriptive one-shot that takes place in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Reviews are welcomed and appreciated :


Ron's Rage and Regret

Ignoring the rain that's blurring his vision, he breathes a sigh of fury before forcing his long legs to push a little harder. His hands, which are both firmly clenched into fists, swing harshly by his side, where his feet roughly track the damp, muddy soil below him. Not looking back, he breaks into a sprint while thrusting his body forward as he moves, seemingly unafraid of what may lie beyond the wet towering trees of the forest.

As he quickens his pace, a long string of curse words escape his lips, while a fresh pain of rage tightens in his chest. He tries to keep his breathing level steady, but the attempt only makes him dizzy and faint, as his own aggression threatens to swallow him. He lets his legs drag on a little further before forcing them to stop. Once at stand-still, he leans his body forward, grips his knees with his red swollen hands and tries to catch his breath. He coughs and pants uncontrollably before settling down, but even in his renewed state of composure, the tightening of his chest continues to ache. For a moment, he is frozen with resentment.

Suddenly, distant cries of a familiar voice echo in the air. At first, they are barely audible among the loud blistering rain, but gradually they become blatant and overpowering.

"Ron! Ron! Please, come back! RON!"

He listens as the trembling voice fills his ears, and waits for its owner to emerge from the clearing. Clenching his teeth, he spots a figure sprinting towards him. His heart sinks as she approaches.

Even in the darkness, he could see the glistening wetness of her cheeks and the grim frown that's playing upon her lips. He could see the wary desperation in her red swollen eyes and even catches a glimpse of the beginning of a new batch of tears that are threatening to stream down her face. Instinctively, he backs away from her in one swift, rigid motion, before flashing her a stony glare.

Anger washes over him.

Ignoring his visitor's bitter sobs, he whips himself around until he is roughly spinning on the spot. Holding his breath, he focuses his thoughts on a distant place beyond the forest, and lets himself be carried away into the dark looming tunnel before him. He feels the familiar constriction in his body as it travels from his head down to his toes, and restrains the urge to cry out. For a moment, the tension in his arms, legs, torso and head threatens to bury his concentration, as the war between his mind and his body reaches its gruesome climax.

A second later, the tightening sensation dulls and fades as his feet touch solid ground; the battle becomes but a memory.

Dizzy from the journey, he stumbles towards the cold cobblestone floor below him, letting nothing but his outstretched arms break his fall. Once adjusting his body into a lazy sitting position, he runs his hands through his wet ginger hair and lets his eyes survey the overwhelming darkness of the area.

He tries to adjust his eyes to the blackness, but the attempt is of no use. Blindly, he shifts his hand towards his left jean pocket and extracts from it a long wooden wand. Pointing it before him, he mutters an old incantation under his breath and waits for the small bright light to appear from the tip of the battered instrument. Within less than a second later, the light is conjured up, revealing the presence of two enormous, concrete walls that shape the long, solemn hall before him. He finds himself at the end of a dark, lonely alleyway and is frozen with recognition; he knows that he has been here before...only, this time he's alone.

A thick, heavy lump swells in his throat, and for a moment, he cannot move. In an instant, a dozen images and memories run through his head, like a fast-moving train that is keen to leave the station. He sees him and his two best friends laughing together at his brother's wedding reception, breathing sighs of relief after escaping the Ministry, and sharing late-night talks in the tent. He sees all three of them walking together at Hogwarts and remembers all the life-threatening moments that they have shared. Most of all, he sees her trembling, downcast face, begging him to stay; his eyes fill with tears of regret.

He sits with his back propped against the concrete wall, allowing the steady flow of tears to pour down his face. Letting the moisture blurry his vision, he swallows the loneliness like a patient consuming medicine, and allows for the outpour of remorse to wash away all the remaining residues of his senseless rage. Feeling as though a curse has been broken, he breathes a sigh of relief before resuming his bitter sobs.

He wants to turn back Time and let all to be forgotten. He wants his friends to see how sorry he feels. He longs for resolution...

_Maybe, it's not too late._

Clinging to hope with all of his might, he picks himself up from the cold, cobblestoned floor, returns his wand to its rightful place, and shuts his tear-stained eyes. Preparing to endure the sharp pain of the journey, he focuses his thoughts on the cold, rainy forest, as he begins to impatiently spin on the spot. However, just as he is about to Disapparate, a sudden force knocks him to the ground and traps him in an immovable headlock. It takes him no time at all to realize what is happening:

The snatchers have found him.

They have come to take him away.

His life is hanging in the balance.

Desperate to break free from the grip of the snatcher, he thrashes his body from side to side, while trying to reach into his battered jean pocket. Whipping his chest like a fish out of water, he almost gets a grip on the edge of his wand, as he plots his immediate escape. However, just as he is about to close the deal, he is violently kicked in the stomach by outlying forces, leaving him wheezing and gasping for air.

The more he struggles, the harder they fight back. The more he resists, the more violent they become. They kick him. They hit him. They punch every inch of him, until he is left bleeding and half unconscious; and as he feels his own warm blood drip from his forehead to his cheek, he wonders what will kill him first: the aching pain that's torturing his body or the heavy regret that's burning in his chest.


End file.
